


It Takes Two

by LichQueen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dancer!Bucky, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 11:48:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16117805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LichQueen/pseuds/LichQueen
Summary: It was safe to say that you and James Buchanan Barnes didn’t get along, and, in truth, that was putting it mildly. A single disastrous date with him had left you wanting absolutely nothing to do with him, and it seemed that the feeling was mutual. That is until your best friend (and sneaky matchmaker) Steve Rogers brings you both together again by taking dance lessons at your studio.





	It Takes Two

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of an August AU Challenge that I participated in on Tumblr. Thank you for stopping in and taking the time to read, and don't for get to leave a kudos/comment if you enjoyed it!

It was a gorgeous mid-October morning in Brooklyn. Autumn had finally decided to arrive, hitting the borough fast and hard and bringing some much needed relief from the blistering heat of summer. Oddly, New York City seemed more alive now that summer had sung its swan song. The sudden change in the weather had prompted a hastier, more drastic change in scenery, and it seemed like overnight every tree in New York had become a bright beacon of color. Summer’s shady emerald canopies had transformed into a sun-warmed mosaic of scarlet, russet, and gold—the falling leaves swaying in the wind and carpeting the ground in a sea of fire.

Even the human element of autumn had you drowning in joy and nostalgia. Shop windows were decorated with pumpkins, colored ribbons, and the occasional bit of burlap for that rustic feel. A few of your neighbors in your building had even covered their doors with Halloween wreaths and cobwebs in the spirit of the season. Bakeries were heavy with the rich, heady scents of cinnamon and nutmeg—their tendrils licking through the air and drawing in ravenous customers searching for something sweet.

Yes, it was definitely a magnificent morning. The type of morning that made you want to pour yourself a cup of coffee, melt into your couch, and just lounge in your pajamas all day with a good book. Maybe even curl up in your favorite old armchair by the windows, soaking up the rays of pale autumn sunlight as they filtered softly through the glass. Either way, you’d fully intended on being lazy. It was one of your days off; you had no errands to run or people to see, and days like that were few and far between.

Steve Rogers, on the other hand, had other ideas.

Since moving to the New York hellscape, Steve had become your closest friend and simultaneously the biggest pain in the ass you’d ever met. The very first time you’d ran into him, you’d been getting your mailbox squared away on the bottom floor. It was only your second day in the city, and your nerves were fried from the move and the sheer amount of unpacking you still had to do. He’d strolled up to the mailboxes with a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips, his baby blues meeting yours for a split second. The man looked like a Greek god. 

He’d leaned a shoulder against the mailboxes and casually sifted through a stack of junk mail, his sculpted muscles and broad shoulders stuffed into a t-shirt that looked two sizes too small. Meanwhile you were stinky and sweaty from unpacking, your hair was a rat’s nest, and it hadn’t crossed your mind to put on something more presentable before stepping into public. Instead, you’d left the house flaunting a holey, paint-stained t-shirt from high school and the ugliest pair of gym shorts that you owned. 

When you’d realized just how awful you looked, you’d snatched up your box key and scurried up the stairs before he could say anything. You were sure that he’d seen your face turn scarlet with embarrassment before you’d fled.

The second time you’d met you’d bumped into him in your hallway while you were on your way out, and this time you were much better dressed and definitely less gross. Your dog—a gangly, dopey Great Dane named Moose—was going stir-crazy. It’d been a few days since he’d had a walk and he was threatening to tear your apartment to pieces, so you’d leashed him and let him drag you out of the house.

Literally.

Suddenly, Steve was there introducing himself as your neighbor and giving enthusiastic belly rubs to the hulking mass of limbs and fur wallowing at his feet. He lived only two doors down from your cozy apartment and shared his home with his own furry companion: an extremely friendly, bullheaded Bloodhound named Sarge that he’d been taking care of long-term for a friend. 

Sarge—who had absolutely zero concept of personal space—had leapt up and placed his heavy paws on your shoulders, snuffling and licking at your cheeks while you rubbed at his long, floppy ears. You’d talked for as long as Moose would allow before you were dragged off towards the elevator with a wave and an apologetic grin. After that, every time he passed you in the hall or met you by the mailboxes he’d shoot you a kind “hello” and flash you his All-American, Golden Boy smile.

Before you knew it you were taking your dogs to the park together, both of you talking and laughing like you’d known each other your entire lives. The hellos in passing had turned into inside jokes, wisecracks, and dinner or drink invites when you could get out of work. Weeks turned to months, spring gave way to summer, and the little crush you’d harbored towards Steve at the beginning of your friendship had changed. Steve had become one of your closest friends, and you loved him like a long lost brother. He was your confidant, your shoulder to cry on, occasional wing man, and the most supportive person in your life. He was also the biggest enabler you’d ever met, and the amount of mischief you two created together could fill volumes. As your friendship grew, you both became permanent fixtures at each others apartments—spending more time together than you did alone just lounging, binging Netflix, and generally enjoying each other’s company.

So when he’d barged through your door at the ass-crack of dawn—ruining your beautiful morning and all of your plans—it wasn’t exactly unusual.

“Rise and shine, darlin’, you’re burning daylight!” He shouted, barreling through your bedroom door.

You jolted awake, rolling away from the ruckus so quickly that you almost tumbled off the bed. It took you a good few seconds to realize that it was just Steve and that you weren’t going to be murdered, and slowly your heart rate began to flutter back to its normal pace.

“Jesus Christ, Steve, are you tryin’ to kill me? You damn near gave me a heart attack!” You croaked, voice still thick with sleep. You reached towards your nightstand, fumbling for your phone and knocking over a few of the lotions and knick knacks that you had hoarded there. When you finally managed to find it you glared down at the screen; you were greeted by your cheerful background and the time stamped at the top in bright white lettering. 

It was 8:05 in the fucking morning.

“I’ve gotta be loud to wake you up, Y/N. You sleep like the dead.” Steve teased. You peered groggily at him from the bed, taking in his appearance with a derisive snort.

Steve Rogers was a creature of habit, despite his love for causing trouble, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that he’d been up since six o’ clock, had already gone for a run, and had probably helped old Mrs. Kowalski across the hall take out her garbage. It was his daily routine come rain, snow, or shine. The jerk was ever the morning person, and his vague idea of “sleeping in” meant bounding out of bed by seven ready to face the day. The very idea made you want to die, but he always managed to look as fresh as a daisy and was always practically humming with energy.

Today was no different and you were about to start threatening violence just by looking at him. Instead, you turned your back on him and cocooned yourself deeper into your duvet like the goblin you were, mumbling out a string of muffled curses that would’ve made your mother faint.

“It’s too early. Go ‘way!” You groaned.

You knew it was pointless. Steve wasn’t going to give in that easily, especially if he was bothering you this early in the morning. Still, you squeezed your eyes shut in a desperate attempt to grab a few more minutes of sleep. Sure enough, the covers were yanked off of the bed leaving you exposed and instantly freezing. You shot up with a squeak to see Steve wrapping himself in your warm duvet, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

“What the fuck, Steve? What if I was naked?” You screeched, hurling a pillow at his stupid face.

He dodged the missile easily—his shoulders shaking as he threw his head back in loud, hearty laughter—but you could see the faintest hint of pink creeping into his cheeks.

“Well, first of all I know you, Y/N, and you’ve never slept naked. I think you’d freeze to death if you did. Second of all, it…uh…wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen you naked.” He replied, the same cocky grin still glued to his face but the blush in his cheeks darkening.

Your own face started to burn hot with embarrassment. You knew exactly what he was talking about and you couldn’t help but cringe at the vague memories of one of the worst nights of your life. It was without a doubt one of the dumbest things you’d done; too many Ladies’ Night dollar shots on an empty stomach had led to a drunken escapade that left you with a hangover from hell and a sprained ankle. You’d drank yourself so stupid that you’d ended up puking your guts up in the alleyway behind the bar at two in the morning, all while teetering in stilettos that were much too tall for even a sober human being to be wearing. If it hadn’t been for Steve, you knew that you would have been in some deep trouble that night.

By some miracle you’d managed to dial his number, and it’d taken him about two seconds to decipher what was going on by your slurred speech and idiotic giggle-fits. When he’d finally coerced the name of the bar out of you, he’d wasted no time in coming to pick you up and get you back home safely—surprisingly giving you only minimal amounts of shit about it, though you totally knew you deserved the lecture. After dragging you up to your apartment he’d given you some water and put you in bed, pulling your hair up out of your face and wiping your mouth clean. He’d spent the entire night patiently taking care of you—making sure you didn’t fall on your face or choke on your own vomit—even when you’d decided it would be a good idea to get in the shower fully clothed because you were cold.

He’d stumbled into the bathroom bleary-eyed and panicked to find you standing there dripping wet under the stream of water. When he’d asked you what you were doing, you’d stripped and flung your soaking wet dress at him, screaming at the top of your lungs, “I’m defrosting Rogers! Just let me live!”

As mortifying as it was, he’d been a perfect gentleman about it. That, at least, you could remember in some detail. He’d helped you wash your hair with his eyes squeezed shut, and he’d tried to avert his eyes as much possible when he’d helped you dry off and put on some pajamas. The next morning he’d talked with you and told you everything that happened, and you could remember fervently wishing that the ground would’ve just opened up and swallowed you whole. It’d made things awkward between you guys for a few weeks, but it eventually got to the point where you could both laugh about it.

Today, though, the reminder was a little less than entertaining.

“Okay fair point,” You snapped, shooting him a withering glare, “Now give me back my covers and bail, Stevie. It’s my day off and I’d like to sleep.”

Steve only shook his head, wrapping the duvet even tighter around his shoulders.

“Nope, time to get up kiddo. Let’s go. I bought breakfast for you and everything.” He chuckled, nodding in the direction of the kitchen.

You stayed put and pouted, stubbornly crossing your arms over your chest like a toddler.

“No.”

“Y/N, you’re hurting my feelings!” Steve whined, upping his game with the most pathetic puppy dog eyes you’d ever seen. He’d obviously been getting pointers from Moose and Sarge. If it were anyone else it would’ve worked beautifully, but you were a Certified Steve Rogers Veteran. That shit wasn’t going to get him anywhere with you. So instead of moving, you flopped back down onto the mattress and curled up into a ball with a haughty sniff.

“Fine,” He sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but you’ve forced me to use drastic measures.”

You peered at him through narrowed eyes, your lips pursing into a thin line as you considered your next move.

“You wouldn’t dare…” You challenged. Steve arched a brow and his lips curled up into a malicious grin that had you immediately regretting your decision to open your big mouth.

“Moose! Sarge! C'mere boys!! Come and get her!” He called, his grin widening as you gaped at him in absolute horror.

Almost instantly the ominous thundering of paws echoed off of the hardwood floors. You shook your head frantically, trying to tell Steve that you’d cooperate but the words just wouldn’t come out. By that time it was too late. Moose and Sarge came skidding through the door with their tongues lolling out of their mouths and their eyes wild. Steve gestured to you, lying there helpless and panicked, and that’s all it took for them to come bounding onto the bed like a couple of wild buffaloes. They flopped themselves down on your legs and chest, leaving you groaning and struggling for air under their weight, before covering you from head to toe in slobbery, stinky dog kisses.

“Moose! Sarge! Down! Down now!” You squealed, shoving against the dogs in a pathetic attempt to get them off of you. Your weak efforts only served to make them more excited, and soon they were wagging their tails so hard you thought they’d take off like helicopters. “For fuck’s sake, Rogers, I’ll get up! Now help me out here!”

“Alright guys, down!” Steve called through his cackles. At this point he was gasping for air and you knew that there were tears pearling at the corners of his eyes.

The dogs lunged off of the bed with a loud thud, both of them making sure to plant a monster-sized paw into either your boob or your belly. You could swear that they were grinning from ear to ear as they pranced around Steve’s legs—both of them extremely proud of their work—and your asshole best friend only made it worse as he showered them with praise.

“Good boys! Such good boys, yes!” He cooed, patting their sides and scratching their ears, “Go on now. Go play!”

Both obeyed happily, letting out a couple of deep, chest-rattling barks before bounding out of the bedroom to cause more mischief. You managed to drag yourself out of bed with a groan and shuddered as the cold air bit into your drool-slathered skin. Every inch of you felt sticky and you knew you reeked of dog breath. Steve—the jerk responsible for your misery—was still giggling on the other side of the room, all warm and wrapped up in your cozy blanket and not covered in slobber. His baby blues were practically twinkling as he watched your expression shift from disgusted to absolutely livid, no doubt very pleased with himself now that he’d thoroughly pissed you off. You grimaced and shot him the nastiest glare you could muster.

“One of these days, Rogers…” You hissed. Your threat trailed off as you dragged a hand over your sticky face with a grimace.

“Yeah, yeah I’ve heard that before. C'mon, time for breakfast.” He drawled, haphazardly tossing the duvet onto the bed. The bitch in you struggled to keep her mouth shut as you narrowed your eyes at the mess. She was at her wits end this morning and it wasn’t even nine o'clock. Deep down, you knew it wouldn’t take long to fix; that there were worse ways to wake up in the morning besides love from your pup, but dammit, you just wanted to relax.

“Feed the dogs for me and give me a minute to clean up.” You snapped, stomping into the bathroom with the sound of Steve’s laughter trailing behind you. It was a bratty move, but you made sure to shut the door behind you a little harder than necessary.

After wiping off some of the drool coating your skin, you fell into your own daily wake-up routine. You took a few precious minutes to wash your face, brush your teeth and hair, and use the bathroom before shuffling into the kitchen in search of a heavy dose of caffeine. Steve was straddling a stool at the kitchen bar, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone while he waited for you for breakfast. You were still a little pissed that he’d fucked up your plans for the day so you gave him the silent treatment, brewing a pot of coffee with your back turned like a petulant teenager.

“Aw, c'mon, are you gonna be mad at me all day, darlin’?”

You could swear you could hear him frowning from across the room, and you could feel his eyes on your back as you watched the coffee trickle into the pot. When you didn’t answer you heard the obnoxious squeak of chair legs against hardwood, and you whirled to see him scooting next to you with a ridiculous pout on his face.

“Please don’t be mad!” He begged, mock-sobbing as he let his head fall onto your shoulder. You looked down your nose at him, your lips set in a hard line. Steve let out an exaggerated sniffle and batted his eyelashes at you, and you just couldn’t hold it back anymore. A smiled tugged at the corners of your mouth, and before you knew it you were giggling as you nudged him with your hip.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Stevie.” You chuckled, shaking your head in defeat.

Steve smirked and wrapped his arms around you in a bone-crushing hug, wriggling his eyebrows like a cheesy cartoon villain.

“But you know you love me.”

“Yep…God help me.” You replied, letting out a long-suffering sigh.

You were almost sure that it was impossible for you to be really and truly mad at him. You’d never let him know that because you knew that he’d take his bullshit up to a hundred in a heartbeat, but the idiot just knew how to make you grin. He was a major pain in the ass, but he was your pain in the ass and you loved him for it. You snatched two mugs from the cabinet and filled them with coffee—black for him and cream and sugar for you—before making your way to the bar and pulling up a stool.

“Alright where’s my breakfast? I was promised food.” You demanded.

Steve snorted and rolled his eyes, but grabbed a white paper bag from the other end of the bar and plopped it down in front of your face.

“There you go, Your Majesty. Breakfast is served.”

One look at the logo on the bag had you squealing like a little kid and grinning from ear to ear. He’d grabbed breakfast from your favorite little bakery down the street and he’d even snagged you a bottle of orange juice.

“A cheese Danish and a blueberry scone, as usual.” He stated, lips curling up into a bright smile at your reaction.

You dug into the bag and bit into your Danish—practically moaning as the flaky pastry touched your lips—and for a few minutes you were lost in your own little world. It wasn’t until you were halfway through devouring your scone that you realized that Steve wasn’t eating. Or talking. In fact, he wasn’t even drinking his coffee, which was pretty much unheard of. He sensed your eyes on him and he flashed you another smile, but it was all wrong. It was weak, almost shaky, and it didn’t touch his eyes.

That wasn’t your Steve. Not at all.

A strange uneasiness prickled faintly at the hairs on the back of your neck, and you gave him a once-over, this time picking up on the rest of his behavior. He couldn’t stop fidgeting. He’d shredded one of the paper napkins that had come with your breakfast into tiny pieces, his knee bounced nervously under the table, and was…was that sweat on his forehead? Your eyes narrowed suspiciously and your scone dropped to the bar, forgotten. Steve was looking at anything and everything but you, suddenly very interested in the wood pattern of your floor, and you crept closer until your face was inches from his. It took him ages but he finally met your eyes and gave you another watery smile. You stared at each other for a few long moments before you closed your eyes sighed heavily through your nose

“Alright,” You barked, “What is it? What do you want?”

Steve scoffed, feigning offense at the question.

“What? I can’t buy breakfast for one of my best friends and my all-time favorite neighbor?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest dramatically.

“That’s cute but cut the shit. The last time you woke me up this early on a day off I nearly ripped your lungs out, and since then you’ve had the good sense to avoid a repeat until today. You’re not drinking your coffee—which you need practically every hour on the hour to function like a human being—and you’re acting super weird. To top it all off you bought me a bribe breakfast, and don’t deny it!” You sputtered, cutting him off as he opened his mouth to speak.

“I do not drink that much coffee.” He eventually muttered under his breath.

“Stop trying to change the subject. What do you want?”

Steve at least had the decency to look sheepish. His cheeks slowly turned a bright shade of pink, and he rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh of defeat.

“Well, I wanted to ask you a favor, Y/N.”

“Yeah I somehow managed to figure that out.” You hummed, blinking owlishly, “What’s the favor, Stevie?”

“Well, uh, do…do you remember Peggy?” He stammered.

“The girl you’ve been dating for like three months and won’t shut up about? No, never heard of her.” You deadpanned, taking a long sip of your coffee. Steve shot you a sarcastic smile.

“Yeah, don’t be a dick. Anyways, I’d mentioned to Peggy in passing that you were a dance instructor.” Steve began, fiddling with his coffee mug and avoiding your gaze, “I told her all about how you and Nat own a studio together, and that you always throw these big Halloween and Christmas shindigs for your clients so they could dance and stuff. Well…now she really wants us to take dance lessons together.”

“Um…okay? I don’t see how that’s a favor. I’ve been trying to get you to take dance lessons for ages.” You pointed out, arching a brow.

Steve was quiet for a few moments, his expression borderline guilty as he stared into his lukewarm coffee. You knew that look, and that meant there was a catch. Dammit.

“Alright what else?” You groaned, burying your face in your hands, “If it’s you asking me to try and talk her out of it, you’re shit out of luck buddy because I won’t do it.”

“No, no it’s not that. I don’t mind taking going at all. I’d be an idiot to pass up on an excuse to hold my girl evening.” Steve chuckled, his lips twitching as you bobbed your head in agreement, “It’s just that we signed up for the evening class…”

“Okay so you’ll be dancing with Nat and not me since I leave in the afternoon. Am I supposed to be offended here or something? I’m really not seeing the point, Steve.” You interrupted, throwing your hands in the air. This is what he woke you up for?

“Well, dammit Y/N, I’m gettin’ there if you’d shut up.” He shot back, exasperated. Your mouth snapped shut and you cradled your chin in your palm, watching him with over-exaggerated anticipation.

“Peggy and I were wanting to know if you would mind going with us. I know that it’d be another trip out for you, but I could pick you up so you don’t have to ride the train and it’s only two nights a week. Peggy really wants to get to know you more, and I really need you there to keep me from making too much of an ass of myself.”

“Alright, don’t get me wrong I love you, Steve, but why would I go all the way back to the studio just to stand around? I mean I suppose I could help Nat, but there really wouldn’t be anything for me to do. She’s an excellent teacher and I’d just end up being a third wheel.” You replied, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“That’s where the favor comes in.” Steve stated, letting out a deep breath before continuing, “We have an extra tagging along with us and he needs a partner. So you wouldn’t just be standing around. I know you’re an amazing dancer and that the classes will be pointless for you, but I’d really like you to go with us.”

“Again, why? Can’t they just bring a Tinder date or something and spare me the trip?” You whined. Steve went silent for a long moment, and you could tell from his expression that he was contemplating what to say next.

“Bucky’s…uh…Bucky’s not really into the whole Tinder thing.” Steve murmured softly, so soft that you almost didn’t hear him.

Almost.

It took you a long moment to process what you’d heard. So long, in fact, that you could see Steve debating whether you’d understood him or not. Bucky? James Buchanan Barnes? Just the name had your muscles tensing and you were hit with the overwhelming desire to punch something. Specifically one Steven Grant Rogers, and you could feel your fingers twitch at the phantom sensation. Instead you simply glared at Steve from across the bar, using every ounce of your self-control to keep from strangling him.

“What do you mean, Bucky?” You asked slowly, nearly choking on his name as you spoke.

“Buck’s back in town, Y/N. Has been for about two weeks now.”

You felt the blood drain from your face and your words stuck in your throat. Steve was eyeing you like you were going to faint or vomit or both; you could see him tensing to catch you in case you decided to take a tumble towards the hardwood floor. The reality was that you were trying to drown the rage that was boiling deep in your belly, and also avoid committing murder on such a lovely day. It wasn’t really working. The only thing you could manage in response to the news was a curt “Oh, I see,” hissed through clenched teeth. Steve only nodded, looking much too calm for man staring death in the face. Either he was oblivious to your outrage or he just didn’t care that you were imagining all the ways you could beat him senseless.

“Since you’re both my best friends, I figured this would be a great chance for you guys to actually get to know each other. Again.” Steve mused, his calm demeanor only stoking the flames of your anger until you couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Yeah, because that worked so fucking well the first time!” You spat, not even remotely trying to hide the vitriol behind your tone.

Your attitude must have finally hit home, because Steve suddenly began to treat you like you were a rabid animal. He leaned away from you with his hands raised in surrender and his eyes wide as he took in your murderous expression.

“C'mon, Y/N, cut him some slack.” He pleaded, “What happened that night was my fault. I set him up with you hoping for something good for you both and I shouldn’t have. He wasn’t in a good place, and he wasn’t even close to ready for a relationship.”

“I’m not pissed about his relationship status, and you fucking know it, Steve. Not being ready for a date I can understand, but lacking common fucking decency? Respect? Please. I heard every word that asshole said about me that night. Every fucking word. He made it perfectly clear that he knew exactly what he was saying, and you taking the blame for it doesn’t make him any less of a prick. Cut him some slack? Not a chance…Bucky Barnes can get bent.”

At this point you were shouting across the kitchen bar at him, and your anger had leeched its way into every part of your body. You felt like you were burning up from the inside out, but you let it burn. It felt good to finally let go about Bucky Barnes. You didn’t even really know the guy, but the few hours you were in his presence told you enough about him to justify loathing him from the very depths of your soul. He’d wounded your pride, had chipped away a sizable chunk of your self-esteem, and had left you feeling like complete trash all with a few choice words. No way you were going to do anything to help him out….you’d rot in hell first.

“I won’t do it, Steve. I appreciate that Peggy wants to get together and have this group bonding thing, but I won’t fucking do it. I refuse to take time out of my day for that asshole.” You added, lowering your voice and cradling your head in your hands.

The beginnings of a headache were throbbing behind your eyes with each heartbeat and you were hit with the sudden, overwhelming urge to just sob. Moose, sensing your distress, lumbered off of the couch to comfort you. He pushed his muzzle under your arm and snuffled into your neck, nuzzling up to you with a concerned whine before plopping his head onto your lap. You scratched at his ears absentmindedly, using all of your strength to bite back the tears as they threatened to spill onto your cheeks. God, what a way to fuck up a perfectly good morning.

“Y/N, please. All he’s done since moving back is mope around his studio. He’s refused to come and take Sarge home or to even visit with him. I’ve only talked to him twice, once when picking him up from the airport and two days ago when I begged him into signing up with us. All he does is sit in that apartment and drink himself stupid. I need to get him out and help him or I’m afraid….I’m afraid he’ll…”

Steve let the sentence trail off, his voice cracking from the emotion. He was worried about his friend…his best friend. You knew you and Steve were as thick as thieves, but he and Bucky had known each other since they were in preschool. Steve may have felt like a brother to you, but Bucky was his brother and that was a bond that couldn’t be replicated. You understood this, even after the way Bucky had treated you. Seeing the worry and fear etched into Steve’s face had your anger fizzling out like it’d been doused in ice water. If anything ever happened to Bucky it would destroy Steve, especially when he was trying so hard to help him, and you just couldn’t do that to your best friend. So you massaged your temples, let out a heavy sigh, and swallowed your pride.

“I’ll do it.” You mumbled before you could change your mind. Steve’s head snapped up and his eyes searched yours frantically, like he expected you to tell him that you were just kidding. When he saw the sincerity in your expression he smiled at you like you’d just hung the moon and the stars.

“Thank you, Y/N, thank you so much. You have no idea what it means to me…” He began. You put your hand up to stop him and shook your head.

“Yes I do, Steve. I know how much Bucky means to you.” You replied, biting back a grimace as you said his name, “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you when you needed it? So I’ll do it for you, and for Peggy. She’s good for you, Rogers, and if she’s going to stick around I’d like to get to know her too. Besides, like you said it’s only two nights a week.”

Steve sighed in relief and stood to wrap you in a hug that had your feet dangling from the floor.

“I owe you big time, sweetheart.” He mumbled, letting you go and holding you at arms length.

“Yeah you do, and don’t you forget it.” You teased, poking him firmly in the chest.

He threw his head back and laughed, the hearty sound echoing around the apartment and filling it with warmth. It was infectious and you couldn’t help but laugh with him. Underneath the laughter, though, you could feel a seed of doubt and worry planting itself deep. Something told you that this was going to be a disaster…that you were going to regret this. You could only smother the ominous twinge of nervousness in your belly, smiling through it and praying that you were wrong.


End file.
